Harriet Potter, or the Boy Who Lived in a Skirt
by zipple
Summary: Harry is forced into drag by Pansy and Luna, finds out that he likes it. This is all crack. Suggestions for future chapters and flames completely welcome.
1. Now For Something Completely Different

**Dear readers, I regret to inform you that this fanfic is awful. If you had any sense at all you would promptly run away from it. In an orderly fashion, of course, but I can hardly blame you for grabbing a torch, a pitchfork and a keg of holy water. In fact, I would claim it as my own since I've allowed OOCness to run rampant, but I can't even do that. You see, the idea was cooked up by ****Schermionie**** with such indignities as Harry being forced into drag and liking it, parading around the school being stalked by yaoi fangirls, a frilly maid outfit, Sirius fainting, crossdressing!Remus, spanking, etc.**** So it's safe to say that I own none of this. So if you are foolish enough to continue reading, it is at your own peril. But since I am the one that is foolish enough to post this story, I will completely understand if I am flamed from hell and back. Actually, I would be disappointed if I wasn't.**

**Warnings for several examples of OOC, AU, exposure of naughty bits, kinky het implications (I know it was against the rules, but I couldn't resist!), kinky slash implications, self-love and Snape being…. Snape.**

**Insanely yours,**

**-Zipple**

"Hold still, Potter!" was the only warning Harry got before getting petrified. He fell to the floor with a thud and promptly blacked out.

The next thing Harry remembered was a posh, female voice saying- something. The ringing in his ears didn't quite register what was being said, but the posh voice was answered by another witch with a very familiar dreamy tone.

"Oh, Pansy," said someone who sounded an awful lot like Luna, but couldn't be. There was only one Pansy at Hogwarts that he was aware of and they would never be friends. "That green really matches his eyes."

"For a dirty half-blood Gryffindor he certainly does have marvelous Slytherin eyes, don't you think?" Ok, so perhaps Luna was insane enough to make friends with Parkinson. Harry tried to sit upright, vaguely aware that his heavy outer robes were no longer on him and that his legs felt a bit- breezier. He finally managed, propped up on his elbows.

"Welcome back, Harriet," Pansy purred.

"'Harriet?'" Harry asked. "I'm not-" his protest was quickly cut off by a hand, tracing slowly over his knee and _UP_. He looked down, seeing the emerald green nails starting to creep to his inner thigh and jerked his knees to his chest.

"Now that's not a lady-like position."

It took another half-second for Harry to realize that he was, in fact, wearing a skirt. "What did you do?" There was a brief moment of panic where Harry wanted to reach down and make sure he was, well, complete. He looked at Luna, who was dreamily drinking in Harry's body. He wrapped one arm around his chest and jumped.

"It's a falsey, you big wimp," Pansy sneered in a Malfoy/Snapish way. "Everything is where it should be. It's just that Y-fronts would have left panty-lines.

"YOU TOOK MY PANTS?" Harry bellowed and damn! The castle echoed.

"I think you look pretty." Luna cocked her head. "It's the eye-liner and mascara. And your hair is almost like a pixie. She reached over and petted Harry fondly, but it didn't make him feel any better. "Stand up then, let's have a look."

Pansy looked a little put out as Harry inched away from them, tottering on his legs like a young foal. Heels definitely were not Harry's typical specialty. He was pretty sure that he gave the girls several good looks at his bits in the process. "Luna, why did you and Pansy dress me up as a-" Harry was tempted to use one of Ron's not-so-Hermione-friendly terms for women, but thought better of it. "Girl?"

Luna hummed cheerily to herself. "I was curious, and you don't mind, do you, Harry?" She looked up at Harry gently caressing his calf- his smooth, hairless calf.

"Gah!," he yelled, which was censored-Ron-speak for 'ARE YOU MAD WOMAN? OF COURSE I BLOODY WELL MIND!'

There was a spell muttered while Harry was distracted with Luna's lack of sanity, and a mirror appeared in front of him and he got the full affect of his costume.

It was Harry, underneath a hip-hugging skirt, a white standard-issue white uniform shirt that was spelled to cut off at his midriff, a swell of fake but modest breasts, heels and an emerald green ribbon in his hair, which was, as Luna mentioned, looked-

The polite way to describe it would be 'mussed'. The impolite term at least rhymed, even if the first letter had to be replaced by a 'F' and the double Ss replaced with a 'ck'.

Harry licked his mauve-painted lips and watched his dolled-up version do the same. His mirror version put a hand on his waist. There was no padding here, but the waistband had been cinched slightly to give the illusion of a hip with a shape.

One would have thought that Harry would be upset about being forced to wear women's clothing. This was Harry Potter, after all, who was known to get upset about everything. Typical fare would be yelling, sulking, yelling, crying about how unfair it all was, more yelling. To be honest Pansy had figured all the above would be just as satisfying as the image of Harry dressed as some kinky minx against his will.

One would never had expected for Harry Potter, the _Boy _Who Lived, to be so utterly fascinated by being in drag.

He thought he didn't speak out loud, thought that his uttering of 'Oh god' was completely in his head, or maybe it was just plainly written on his face. Or maybe it was the way Harry tried to turn as subtly as possible to check out his bum.

After a full 5 minutes of preening, Pansy started to get bored. Maybe Luna wanted to spend all eternity watching Harry Potter stay two steps away from openly wanking himself in the bloody corridor, but there were Hufflepuffs that required Pansy's own form of terrorism.

"You can keep this outfit, Harriet," she said with a sneer. "By the time you're done with it, it'll be soiled beyond repair regardless of how many house-elves work on it." She banished the mirror, leaving Harry with Luna and a blush spreading across his painted cheeks.

It was one thing to stand in heels, it was quite another to try to walk in the bloody things. Luna offered him her arm, which Harry took assuming it was a gentlemanly gesture, but quickly found that she was in bum-squeezing distance. Harry would have gotten mad, except, he-

Oh. That wasn't just his bum she was going for now.

One very interesting walk to the Gryffindor tower later, Harry and Luna parted ways. Of course, the Fat Lady had seen her fair share of boy students in drag for one reason or another and didn't bat an eye. Harry half hoped that there was someone in the common room, but no such luck, but not surprising since it was a Hogsmeade weekend.

He went up to his dorm, finding it as empty as the common room and made a bee-line for the bathroom. He went to the mirror, charmed it to full length and continued to gawk at himself.

The Slytherin green would have to go. He didn't care how much it brought out his eyes. Maybe some smoky eye, maybe he could convince one of the girls to get him some red lipstick and blush. He removed the green ribbon and played with his hair. If it were just a half-inch longer maybe he could get some curl in it and-

Harry watched himself lick his lips again and hoped that this was all because of Luna's groping because the skirt was tenting. It was already tight, now he felt the fabric was trapping him down, but he didn't dare lift the skirt. He leaned into the mirror, watched his eyes gloss over, shifted his legs- his long, smooth legs. He watched his eyes for as long as he dared, then moved to his lips, bit them until they puffed then proceeded to mouth obscenities to himself until his legs no longer shifted but started light, little thrusts.

Oh, this was so wrong, so very very wrong- but all Harry could see in his mirror was a naughty tart, whose neck was a bit too long and probably very flexible, shoulders were a bit too broad, but that would make them so much easier to grab and push down, to use that long neck and those swollen lips and stare down at the cleavage threatening to spill out and those knees, spread apart and not so knobby from this angle but rather- oh!

Two minutes later, as Harry was running water over the soiled material, he decided that it would have been a better idea to move the skirt out of the way while he still had the chance.


	2. Swagger

Left to their own devices, teenage boys tend to do silly things. Drinking one of Neville's botched potions on a dare, sending anonymous dirty letters to professors, trying to sneak into the girls dorm. Madame Pomphrey was used to seeing most boys visit the hospital at least once for having used a charm inappropriately or having part of them stuck in something (or less frequently, stuck in them). The Weasley Twins were their own brand of menace. Even so, no one could ever be prepared for the sway of hips that sauntered from the boys dormitory. Or tried to saunter. Harry wasn't that good at the heels yet. But once he got at the bottom of the stairs it was a sight.

Harry had transfigured some old robes that had become too tight during his last growth spurt. But with some tweaking and a color charm, he managed a tight-fitting, low-cut shirt and a flared skirt. He had dug into his potions kit and mixed some ingredients to act like make-up and hoped that he wouldn't break out into hives.

The effect was-

"OH MY GOD HARRY! You look bloody ridiculous!"

Bugger! He really should have spent more time paying attention in class and to when girls gabbed about clothes and make-up. His first instinct was to cover himself up, but he was grabbed by Ginny Weasley who led him into the common room bathroom. She ran off and came back with arm loads of fabric and jars.

"If you're going to walk around playing dress up, at least ask a real woman first." She then proceeded to wipe, tuck, primp, slather, pinch, shave, powder, swish, flick, coif, tug off, grope ("Hey!" "Sorry!") smear, fluff and finally slap. "There," she said, admiring her handiwork.

Harry desperately wanted a mirror, but Ginny was having none of it. She shoved him out into the common room in his newly-transfigured Mary Janes ("Hooker heels are out Harry"), a wrap-around red shirt that gave the illusion of breasts and a skirt that required that his bits be tucked as far back as they would go.

There was a startled gasp from the room and fittingly, someone's game of Exploding Snap blew up in their faces. Colin had his camera up, but was too stunned to take a picture. Everyone from 1st years to 7th years were looking at Harry as if he-

Well, he was in drag, dammit! And it was so much easier to saunter in these shoes then the hooker heels Pansy and Luna had inflicted on him. You could have heard a pin drop as Harry walked across the room. He saw Ron out of the corner of his eye, gave a saucy wink and headed to the entrance.

"Anyone care to join me?" he called behind him. He didn't need to look back to see half (mostly the older students) get up and follow him out.

The mob just grew from there. Even Peeves, when met with the properly primped vixen, couldn't bring himself to drop the dung bombs loaded in his arms. Well, he did anyway, but it was after Harry had passed and the bombs were accidentally dumped on a crowd of Ravenclaws. Oops. The mob walked by Moaning Myrtle, who moaned for reasons other than despair. The Bloody Baron gave a wolf-whistle, the Grey Lady soon followed suit.

With each admiring bystander Harry felt his step become a bit bouncier, his hips gained a certain swagger and lord help us, gave a seductive head-toss that floated his currently dark-red hair in a sultry halo around his head.

Dark-red?

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and looked at the mirror that was conveniently placed just outside of the Great Hall's doors.

Indeed- he had long, dark red hair that cascaded over his shoulders. He quickly removed his glasses and leaned in for a closer look.

Ever since coming to Hogwarts everyone had always commented on how much Harry looked like his father. But with the long red hair and make-up, his mother shone through splendidly. A small 'ahem' brought him back to reality. Harry pushed away from the wall and tucked his glasses into his cleavage. He could handle a little blindness for this. Well, theoretically. Was the door always this hard to open? "Allow me!" said a helpful but blurry 7th year. Harry thanked- whoever it was and walked in.

Harry was met with the sound of clanking silverware and cups. He looked around as best he could, but many people were too absorbed in their meal to pay attention to Harry. The mob dispersed but a group remained, anticipating that blind and sexy Harry may need some helpful hands and fingers to get to where he needed to go. He waved of all attempts of help, choosing instead to wander up and down the rows of tables to feed off the reactions of the other students.

Harry could feel sets of eyes draw from their food to him and he was glad that Ginny had insisted that he tuck. He allowed himself to drift, leaning over tables to grab a bit of toast. When an attractive Ravenclaw touched his thigh, Harry thanked him by stealing a swig of his pumpkin juice. A Hufflepuff offered Harry an éclair, which Harry took great delight in nibbling away from him, savoring the cream by licking it off of the poor bloke's fingers.

Harry was so wrapped up in being a cock tease that he didn't notice the swirl of black robes, the forbidding stomp of boots, but he didn't miss the drawl that drew Harry's attention from the almost lap-dance he was engaged in.

"Look miss-" said a voice that was unmistakably Snape's. Harry looked up, great big green eyes blinking behind a scattering of red hair. Even with cloudy vision, he could see Snape's expression change from a sour look to- something else. Harry scrambled up out of the Hufflepuff's lap. Oh now he was going to get it. Snape was going to-

Caress his face tenderly?

"Lily," Snape muttered. "Are you- it can't be, oh Lily!" And Harry got a face full of greasy, sweaty, foul-smelling Snape on his mouth.

"PROFESSOR!" Harry tried to push Snape away, but Snape had a grip like a python.

"Call me 'Sev'," Snape said, then leaned down and kissed Harry again. Urg, tongue!

Harry really pushed Snape away this time, which turned out to be just enough force to dislodge his bits from their tucking excursion. "Professor!" Harry said, gasping. He grabbed his glasses from his cleavage and threw them on his face so quickly that he stabbed himself in the cheek. He lifted his hair away from his forehead to reveal his trademark scar.

It took Snape almost a full minute to realize his mistake. The sallow cheeks flushed and he looked around the Great Hall, watching as a thousand eyes took in the dual shock of Harry Potter in drag and a hated professor snogging a student in full view of everyone.

Snape gulped, straightened his back and schooled his face into disgust. "Potter," he said. His drawl wasn't nearly as commanding as he was trying to convey. "What are you wearing?"

"A skirt, sir."

"I see. Detention, Potter. It won't be with me," he added loudly enough for most of the Hall to hear. Snape walked passed him, not meeting his eyes. "10 points to Gryffindor," he muttered quietly before stalking out of the Great Hall.


	3. Of Sex Pistols and Bloody Sodding Shoes

After getting involuntarily snogged by Snape, Harry retired the 'Lily' look, preferring to have Snape hate him the old-fashioned way. But there was nothing saying he couldn't use Ginny's spell for other colors or styles.

Every day of the week Hogwarts was treated to a new Harry (sorry) _Harriet_ Potter. Monday was hot librarian Potter. Tuesday was Wizard Weekly centerfold Potter. Wednesday was naughty nurse Potter (it was his turn to assist in the hospital wing). Thursday was Catwoman Potter (which was only understood by Muggleborns, but greatly appreciated by all). Friday was just, skanky. It involved a lot of bending over and chest-thrusting, actually.

Everyone was surprisingly supportive. It was a vast improvement over his previous life in that Snape couldn't even look at him, let alone assign detentions, make remarks about his schoolwork or breathe in his direction (though Harry thought of the taste of kippers every time anyway). Nearly-Headless Nick had floated up to him between classes "Good show!" he said. "When I was alive I used to go in drag quite often. It was mostly for laughs, see, since I was in a comedy troupe, but I've never seen one do it so well!"

Harry was so involved in cross-dressing that Hogwarts quickly forgot that he was actually male, so it came as a complete surprise on Saturday when he wandered down the stairs in his normal jeans, a plain ill-fitting jumper, his satchel and not a speck of make-up.

"If you think I'm going onto the train with heels and a skirt, you're all bloody _MAD_," he said in response to all the gawking. But it was hard not to notice the little twitch of his hips as he walked out the Gryffindor entrance.

Easter break was a welcome one. The plan was to goad Sirius into letting Harry into his vault at Gringotts and proceed to hit up Madame Malkins for robes and just about every London boutique they could find, be muggle or wizard. Maybe if Harry was in drag, they could risk Sirius walking around with him as Padfoot. No one would suspect-

Harry practiced his lady-like sitting. Knees together, tucked under, back straight. But that felt a bit like meeting the Queen, didn't it? Or one knee crossed over the other. Guess it depended on the outfit, really.

The train trudged through the rainy Scottish countryside but the weather was looking rather pleasant and sunny as they approached London, so Harry closed the curtains to his compartment on the train and changed into a smart form-fitting black jumper, a knee-length red tartan skirt with black tights and lengthened his hair slightly to better frame his face. Of course, the hips required a bit of padding, but Ginny had been kind enough to show him that a couple sanitary pads taped on his hips was a nice way to flesh out any lack of curves. He would have to remember to buy a pack while out shopping with Sirius.

Tonks was at platform 9¾ to pick up Harry. It took longer than normal to spot each other since Tonks had changed her hair to look like a Sex Pistol and she was looking for Harry, rather than Harriet. I won't bore you with the details, but there was an escaped frog that tried to make its way up Harriet's skirt, a younger sibling of a 1st year that tried to retrieve it and received a nasty surprise, and several minutes of Tonks yelling 'WOTCHER!' into the crowd and Harriet yelling 'OVER HERE!' There was a lot of wand-waving, whistling (why thank you, boys) and general mayhem.

When they finally found each other, Tonks and Harriet circled around each other warily, taking a look at each other's costumes at first with suspicion (one could never be too careful) and finally admiration.

"Very nice, Harry," Tonks said. She put her hands on her hips and absent-mindedly twirled her wand. "Though you may want to re-think the shoes."

"Yeah, well, I only had my trainers with me." Tonks gave a nod, waved her wand, giving Harriet a pair of high-heeled wedges. "Thanks," Harriet said, carefully admiring the new footwear. A tad of a pinch in the toes, but a it was small price to pay for the nice set of legs that went with it.

Harriet and Tonks walked arm-in-arm (mostly to keep Harriet from toppling) and gossiped all the way to the Apparation point that would take them to Grimmauld Place 12. It should be noted that Apparation in a skirt is a thrilling experience, full of healthy breezes around the privates and a requirement of holding hems to keep one modest. But the biggest challenge, by far, was staying on one's feet when wearing high-heeled wedges. Harriet, unfortunately, was not entirely successful.

Tonks helped Harriet up as Grimmauld Place 12 stretched its way into view. By the time they got to the front stoop Harriet was ready to bugger it all and toss the shoes at Tonks with as much force as necessary to lodge through her hair and into her scalp. Oh! These were worse than tucking and splinching and having a bludger ram into your groin at 100 kilometers an hour combined. They got to the door without major injury to Tonks' head, but Harriet tossed the satchel and kicked off the shoes as soon as they were through the door.

"Oi! Sirius!" Harriet called. Tonks scurried off, knocking something over and causing Mrs. Black's portrait to curse loudy.

Now, Harry, not being forewarning sort, didn't think to send Hedwig ahead to explain about his new habits. Frankly, he had been so absorbed with his new hobby and his reception at Hogwarts had gone so well that it didn't occur to Harry that this would be a shock to anyone.

There was a great thumping on the second floor, spiders started to scatter. Sirius must have been taking stairs two at a time. He stopped a moment, throwing a Silencing spell at his mum's portrait before looking into the kitchen, which was were Harry normally headed when arriving at Grimmauld Place, only to find Sex Pistol-clad Tonks merrily munching away on some leftover toast. He headed to the foyer, where Harriet was rubbing feeling back into stubborn toes.

"Well hello there," Sirius said. His tone made Harriet look up. Harriet was about to hobble over to give Sirius a hug, but Sirius leaned his upper body on the door jam to hover over Harriet, giving a roguish smile. "Tonks!" he called. "Who is your gorgeous friend here?" There was no answer, probably since Tonks was still busy stuffing her face.

"No matter," Sirius said. He brushed a bit of hair from Harriet's face, brushing the cheek as he went along. He leaned in, letting his hot breath brush her ear. "What's your name, dear?"

Harriet should have pushed Sirius away, should have yelled bloody sodding murder. Should have apologized and explained that no, Sirius should not be mouthing those filthy words or caressing that thigh or- oh sod it!

Harriet giggled.

Sirius was inching his fingers around to Harriet's waist when there came a not-so-subtle "AHEM!"

Sirius turned, eyeing Tonks with what must have been an intimidating expression. "If you don't mind," Sirius said grimly, "I'm _talking _to this-" Sirius turned back to Harriet "charming little witch." He gave a wink at Harriet. "So _if _you don't mind-"

"Do you seriously think I would bring a stranger to Grimmauld Place 12? A place that is _supposed_ to be a secret?"

"Well she could only get here if Dumbledore told her, and if Dumbledore trusts her-"

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Wrong pronoun, love."

Sirius blinked. "Pronoun?"

Tonks gave a very sexy Pistols sneer. "If purebloods were only allowed to go to muggle primary schools you may understand the English language a little better." Tonks gave a thin laugh at Sirius's confused look. "It means that that's not a bird you're currently molesting. In fact _he _is not of age."

Sirius's hand stilled and removed itself from Harriet's thigh. He backed away to look at Harriet with big, black eyes. "Then-"

Harriet decided enough was enough and lifted the fringe to expose the lightening-shaped scar. Harriet gave a sheepish grin and shrugged. "Surprise?"

"Oh bugger!" Sirius's eyes rolled back in his head and he promptly fainted.


	4. Auntie Em!

"Do you think he conked his head?"

"No, I think he's coming around."

Sirius blinked his eyes open wearily. There was a blur of a Sex Pistol in his vision. Four, actually, head-banging. The Sex Pistols were snapping their fingers, saying his name. He worked on focusing his vision until they morphed into one very worried Pistol.

"Oh, Tonks!" Sirius groaned. "I had this awful nightmare. You were in it and Harry was here dressed like a smashing-looking bird but I didn't recognize him at first and I tried to- to-" he flexed his hand and looked at it as if he'd never seen it before.

"Sh-" came a voice to his right. Not Tonks but- A face came into view. Painted lips, green eyes and one lightening-shaped scar. "It's ok," said Harry with lips too pretty not to be kissed.

With that thought, Sirius fainted dead away.


	5. Of Lessons and Wanking

Harriet and Tonks were about half-way up the stairs with a surprisingly heavy and unconscious Sirius when they remembered that they could perform magic. However, the combined forces of two Wingardium Leviosas caused Sirius to soar or (as some would say) smash into the ceiling. He then fell all the way to the lower landing with a thud, a cloud of dust rising in his wake.

With a sigh they retrieved him. Harriet let Tonks do the levitating while Harriet went to the kitchen for a wet rag, a mug of strong tea and after a moment's thought grabbed the fire whiskey, which Sirius would probably need more than the tea. Harriet climbed up the stairs, deposited the tea and whiskey outside of Sirius's door and headed to the loo with his satchel. It would probably be better to dress as Harry until Sirius could absorb the news without fainting. Pity. It was such a stunning outfit.

Tonks left because she had better things to do, such as work, which left Harry alone. He had hoped to have a nice long chat with Sirius, but when he went down the hall to try to talk, the tea things were missing and Sirius's voice was moaning "Unclean! Unclean! Unclean!" So, no, maybe it wasn't time yet.

Harry went down to the kitchen, fixed himself a sandwich and sighed.

Now, Harry being Harry, there were a lot of angst-riddled thoughts (PUNS! YAY!) that usually accompany these types of stories. So let's have the short version: bitch, moan, life is unfair, no one will understand, something repressed and British, should I wear a frilly French maid outfit, why can't I be normal, and when can we go shopping. And Voldemort is in there somewhere too, but don't ask me where because we simply don't have time to bother with all the caps-locking. Suffice to say, Harry was being a gender-bending teenager who happened to have magical powers and a crazed old man after him for things he had no control over. Believe me, it's all perfectly normal.

So anyway, we'll fast forward a bit. Sirius is severely traumatized, Harry is concerned that they will spend all Easter avoiding each other and as a result, will have no chance to go shopping for drag costumes. Harry and Sirius spend the next day in their separate rooms, not talking to one another and generally being awkward.

Monday comes and Sirius still hadn't emerged from his room. But that didn't mean that Harry wasn't a growing boy who could easily demolish an entire cupboard's worth of food in a sitting. Remus Lupin found him in the kitchen in his normal male pajama bottoms and a decidedly feminine lacy pink cami top, eating unlady-like out of a jar of peanut butter with his fingers.

"Now really, is that any way for a young lady to behave?"

Harry stopped shoveling peanut butter into his gaping maw. "'Ullo, Puhfessah," he said through a sticky mouth.

"Hello, Harry," said Remus pleasantly. "I didn't expect that we would start our lesson this way, but I suppose we have to start somewhere." He came into the kitchen, burrowing through the cupboards until he produced plates, silverware, bread and other edibles. Harry took the hint, washing his hands and coming back to the table.

The meal was quite pleasant, despite Remus's little reminders of proper table manners, but it was quite informative, since Remus quickly dispelled the stereotype that it was necessary to take tea with a pinky raised, that one must always talk in a nasal whine and whatever else we yanks assume come from England's catalog of 'stick-up-the-ass'.

Breakfast things cleared away, Remus gave an appraising look over Harry's form. "Well, it's first thing in the morning, so it's not like you were really dressing up at this point in the day. But still. We have work to do, Harry. Now, if you would be so kind as to help me with my luggage." Remus led Harry out into the hall. There were two carpet bags and a large box. They hauled the luggage to the second landing and into Harry's room. "Now, I'd like to see what we have to work with. Please empty your bag and we'll see what you have."

Harry was confused, but he was standing in a pink camisole, and Remus didn't seem to be put off or escaping to whimper in a locked room like Sirius, so Harry carefully pulled out his meager supply of skirts, blouses and make-up and laid them out on the desk. Remus looked everything over with an interesting gaze, nodding and touching fabric. "Very nice, Harry, very nice. By the by, do you go by 'Harry' when you wear these?"

"No. I prefer to be called 'Harriet'."

"Ah! Most of us aren't so lucky to have a name so easily translated to a woman's name without it sounding absolutely ridiculous. I usually go by 'Renee'."

"Sir?"

"Oh yes, I forgot." Remus swished his wand at the luggage. Harry watched in morbid fascination as the carpet bags opened. Huge racks floated from their depths, which must have been magically expanded to accommodate everything. Several outfits on hangers came out, and not one of them masculine. Everything from summer dresses to ball gowns emerged. Blouses, bras, things to stuff the bras with, girly trousers, skirts, knickers, garters, shoes of all sorts, scarves, hats, stockings and (Merlin help us all) a corset.

Remus gave second flick, this time aimed at the box. The top lifted off and several trays folded out containing enough make-up to get even Crabbe and Goyle to look half-way decent. There were more shades of eye shadow and blush then Harry could possibly ever imagine using, plastic bottles, creams, jars, powders, glitter and-

Harry sat on the bed with a thump and let his head spin in a genuinely over-dramatic fashion. "You are- er."

"I'm a transvestite," Remus said. "Meaning I, on occasion, wear women's clothing. Are you with me so far? Good." Remus approached the make-up case, bending to sort through the creams. "I won't ask you to label yourself, but do you feel in anyway that you were meant to be born a woman? Not that there's anything wrong with that."

Harry thought briefly about what he would possibly do with himself if he had other bits, and shook his head. "Er, no."

"Right then," Remus said, selecting a few vials of flesh-colored cream and a couple of powders. "If you'd care to come here, we'll have a look." Harry stepped toward Remus. Remus gently guided him until they were under the light. Very carefully, he held up the creams to Harry's face, comparing them to Harry's complexion. "The thing to remember is that your best bet is to accentuate your strong points and merely dampen the flaws. Go too far in either direction and you will look more like a Picasso than a person."

Remus opened one jar of cream, dabbed a drop onto his finger then smeared the cool liquid on Harry's cheek. He gave a worried look, opened a slightly different shade and smeared Harry again in the same fashion. This went on for some time. Harry felt as if Remus was spreading on war paint rather than make-up. Once Remus was satisfied with the cream, he opened the eye shadows, putting colors with thoughtful little dabs under Harry's brow. He must have looked fairly stupid being tarted up this way, but he didn't remark. His normal method of make-up was to slather it on and hope for the best. It never occurred to him that it actually took time and care for a bird to look good.

"Come. Let's try these out," Remus said after choosing several items. He led Harry over to the vanity, set down the selected items and handed him a wipe to clean his face, and went back to the make-up case to collect his own make-up. With a swish of his wand a duplicate vanity appeared alongside Harry's.

Remus talked all through the lesson, showing Harry how to evenly apply the cream, how to do up his eyes for day and evening, how to use the blush without turning up a whore or a clown, how to paint his lips and keep them painted. There was a long bit about subtly, how not to stab one's eye with eyeliner or mascara. Remus even showed Harry how to properly cover the scar using layers of colors, which Harry wished had been taught to him when he was five years old, but that is neither here nor there.

When it was all said and done, Harry was amazed how much could be accomplished with a little paint and care. Everything about his face looked soft and pleasant. His jaw was fine as a bloke, but was the dead give-away in drag. His cheekbones were accentuated but not ridiculously so. His eyes were lined with dark browns, making his eyes pop even behind the shield of his glasses without giving him raccoon eyes.

Harry bit his bottom lip seductively, turning his head from side to side. He thought that Luna, Pansy and Ginny had made him look good, but this was- edible. His hand was itching to go to his pajama bottoms for a swift wank, but he was reminded of Remus's presence just in time by the slight chuckle. "Intoxicating, isn't it?" Harry obediently nodded, putting his hands on the vanity top to remove temptation.

"Professor," Harry said warily. "Does Sirius know that you're-"

Remus chuckled. "Yes, he does." He leaned forward to adjust his lipstick on the mirror. "And for the record, he is perfectly understanding about it. From what Tonks told me, you just gave him a bit of a shock. He's more afraid of his- er, _reaction_ than he is of you." Remus smacked his lips, apparently satisfied. "Tell me, Harry-et. How did you discover you liked cross-dressing?"

Harry tried to duplicate Remus's easy tone but failed miserably. He told about Pansy and Luna attacking him in a corridor and forcing him in costume, the origin of his drag name, how Luna escorted him home. He tried to leave out as much of the naughty bits as possible, but his tone had become soft and hoarse during the course of his story, seemed to darken when he thought about being groped. "Then when I came back to the dorm I-" Harry stopped dead.

"You got off on it, didn't you?" Remus finished for him. Harry nodded mutely with a blush. "I had a similar reaction when I first tried it. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

Harry blinked and licked his lips, because there bloody well was something to be ashamed of now. He remembered with dizzying accuracy how much he writhed when in front of the mirror for the first time, how hard the orgasm had been with no touch at all except for the rough wool of the skirt.

His mind then treacherously replaced his own image with Remus's, who would be properly dolled up, donning that corset that having the bollocks to give himself a slow, hard wank in front of that mirror, maybe grabbing a pair a silk knickers to rub along his flesh until he-

Remus stood up hastily. "Why don't you take care of _that_," Remus said, waving an arm at the open make-up containers in front of Harry. "I'll be making tea." And with that, he fled, making sure to close the door behind him.

Harry looked at the open containers and started capping lids. It was when he dropped the eyeliner in his lap that he realized that his pajama bottoms were rather thin and really did not hide much of anything. Harry blushed and realized that Remus may not have been asking Harry to take care of the make-up, that the area he indicated included Harry's groin as well.

Harry's blush deepened when he looked at the mirror on the vanity. Harry's look was feral, so obviously turned on that it was no wonder Remus had fled.

He squirmed his pajama bottoms down to expose only what was necessary and scooted away from the table as to not damage any of the make-up still laying on the counter.

He wrapped his fingers around his cock, wondering what it would be like to do this with painted nails. Whore red maybe or- gloves. Dainty white and meant for soiling. Harry looked at himself in the mirror, biting his lip and exposing his neck as he tossed off. What would it be like to have someone tug his hair, bite his neck? He drew on the sensation of Sirius breathing hot into his ear, but replaced Sirius with the Ravenclaw Beater. You know, the one with the-

His hand sped up. The Beater was big, much bigger than Harry. Harry thought of being grabbed by the shoulders in the locker room showers. The Beater could easily pin him to the wall but all Harry would need is a look to stay in place. All there would be a is a bit of soap and the water to ease the roughness of their thrusts against one another. That thigh would be nothing but muscle, lodging between Harry's legs and the panting would be a thousand times hotter than all the friction in the world. Their kisses (if they even bothered to get that far) would be slow and torturous. The Beater's hand would drift down, cupping Harry's bum, lifting him for a better angle, teasing a thick, blunt finger along his-

For obvious reasons, that thought did not get finished. Harry slumped in his chair, panting as if he has just been playing Quidditch, run 10 miles and rescued all of Hogwarts from a flaming Giant Squid.

He had no idea how long Remus would be downstairs making tea, but Harry was in no rush to clean himself up after _that. _He sat quietly for several minutes, reveling in the post-coital glow. He gave himself a proper look in the mirror as he came down off the high of orgasm. His cheeks were flushed, eyes dilated to almost a solid black. His neck couldn't seem to support his head, so he left it drift to the side.

He raised his hand, feeling his long neck. His fingers grazed over what he imaged would be the love-bite left by the Beater. Would he bother to magically heal it or would he let it stay? He would wrap a scarf around it, even if it was July and blistering in the shade, but the knowledge that it would be there, pulsing with memory. Would the Beater remember him, drag him off to a barely-private alcove, rip off the scarf and tongue the bite until Harry bucked and screamed?

Harry pictured the outfit in his mind. The skirt would be shorter than the uniform shirt. The tops of Harry's stockings would be visible even without man-handling, but it made it so much easier to hike up. It would be lifted to his waist, buttons would surely be popped off the blouse. They wouldn't even bother to loosen their ties. They had to be quick. Mrs. Norris might come by any moment and Filch would walk in on them, but that was part of the thrill, getting caught and-

Harry hadn't realized how worked up he was getting until a discreet knock came at the door. "Are you decent, Harry?"

Oh bloody fuck he was not decent at all. "Uh, give me a minute!" Harry squeaked. He grabbed the tissues from the vanity and hastily wiped the mess and tucked himself back into his pajamas, but that was useless since he had worked himself up so much that he was back to the original state he was in when Remus first left. Sometimes he _really _hated being a teenager. Harry rushed to the wardrobe and picked the baggiest trousers he could find. That proved useless as the pajama bottoms, so he launched himself on the bed. "Ok!" he called, thrusting a pillow into his lap.

Remus entered with extreme caution. He looked at Harry, whose color was high and eyes overly bright, biting his lip and keeping as stiff and still as possible, breathing labored. Remus glanced down at the pillow, clutched tightly in Harry's hands.

"You know," Remus croaked. "I think we'll postpone the remainder of the lesson for later on this afternoon. I'll, uh, go check on Sirius." He gently closed the door behind him.

Harry wrenched the pillow away from his throbbing groin, shoved his hand down, then imagined what it would be like if he and the Beater were caught by Professor Lupin instead of Filch and given a nice, long, hard detention.

Detention. Sure. Yeah.


	6. Of Dirty Spells and Other Naughty Things

**Author's note: Sirius goes through a list of spells that JK Rowling would never write about without getting rated X, thereby destroying the kid's market and drastically increasing her adult fan base. Rather than making you, the reader, do research, the translations are located at the end of the chapter. Each spell is notated with a number in parentheses for easy reference.**

Harry came down to dinner wearing his jeans and a worn undershirt. He hadn't bothered to remove the make-up, however, which earned him a strange look from Remus, who had apparently wiped his off since he had run out of Harry's room a second time. Sirius refused to look at him at all, but stared down at his plate as if the carrots were carrying on a conversation with the potatoes.

They ate in awkward silence. The tension was about as dense as the meatloaf, which was as dry and tasted rather gamy. Bleh. Come to think of it, Harry had not seen Kreature since he arrived. Harry picked the meatloaf apart and hoped that it wasn't part of an old pillowcase, though that would account for the dryness.

When Harry couldn't stand to push the food around his plate anymore, he stood up and plopped his hands down on either side of Sirius's drinking glass. The glass tipped, spilling the pumpkin juice over Sirius's plate. There. That finally got a look. "Look," Harry said, leaning close and dangerous, "there is only room for ONE angsty tosser in this fanfic and that is me! So get over it!"

Both Remus and Sirius looked shell-shocked at the severely angry Harry, who then removed his hands and his plate from the table and huffed off in a dramatic way. Most people, after displaying such tactlessness, would have been ashamed immediately. Fortunately Harry had a lot of practice recently in acting like an arse (or as some would say, diva) so he simply marched to the sink and began washing angrily. Well, no to much angrily as smashingly. Into little pieces. Smash, smash, SMASH!

Sirius didn't stop him from destroying his mother's elf-bone china. The design of deceased elves with X's for eyes never did much for his appetite anyway. He simply stared at the wall, mulling it over.

Remus had decided to pretend that nothing had happened and was about to eat more meatloaf when Sirius shot up from his chair. He banged his fist on the table, effectively knocking over Remus's water into the meatloaf.

"By jove, Harry!" Sirius cried in the most British way possible. "If we're both self-absorbed, whiny prats, it'll bog down the whole story!" Sirius rushed to his godson, grabbing him by his shoulders. "Do you understand what this means? It means that I can be the cool, irresponsible parent that will indulge every rule breaking fantasy you ever had!" Sirius drew Harry forward into an embrace that crushed Harry into his chest. "So what if I felt you up and you liked it? So what if Kreature makes a lousy entrée?"

Harry struggled in vain to release his face from Sirius's chest. He waved his arms, smacked everywhere he could reach, but Sirius was freakishly strong.

"Oh Harry! I feel so much closer to you now then ever before! You really have legs for stockings, just like your father! Of course, when we tarted up it was usually on a dare. Didn't care for the shaving or the bleedin' hose, and I could never figure out the hooks on the bras. But your dad was a fine-looking bird when he really put an effort into it. He really had a knack for pretending he had breasts, but he kept it subtle, you know. None of this ridiculous 'DD' nonsense. He always did nice, perky A-cup but looked like an athletic bird. All you need is a handful, eh? But his bum was the real seller. Imagine seeing a tight, bum wriggling in front of you, begging to be buggered silly in a prep girl uniform. I never would, since it was _James_; well except for that one time in the Forbidden Forest, and then that other time in the Shrieking Shack. And there were a few times after Quidditch. I bet James he didn't have the bollocks to dress like a muggle cheerleader during a Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff game and root for Slytherin, but he did it! Almost got expelled, but I gave him a good, hard rogering for the trouble. Remember the '70s? Well of course you don't. But it was a good time. There was nothing better than nicking from the private stash from the Herbology department, dressing like birds and shagging each other on any surface that would hold us. Your dad had _fantastic _legs that could wrap around one's hips like a python! Of course he could give as good as he got. His cock was thin, like him, but it was long and very agile. We called it his kick-stand, though we tried very hard not to kick it. We weren't always successful. Fanfic writer's inability to understand proportionate anatomy aside, when we figured out the prostate just about everything in Hogwarts became very sticky. We got caught so many times, but most everyone thought we were just wrestling without trousers or pants. Detentions were a laugh riot, because then we got to spend hours on end almost alone together. We cast spells at one another when the professors weren't looking. Things like _mane lignum _(1), _papilla contortor _(2), _asinus palmis caedebat _(3), _exsultantiaque glandula _(4), _gallus rodunt _(5), _phantasma futuis_ (6), _da mihi durior _(7), _eam peterem _(8), _amabo sir ut alium habeo _(9), _quam operor vos amo lemma poma _(10), _nunc tincidunt nisi culmen _(11), and so on. You get the idea. Of course, one day we caught Moony nicking our knickers, which a whole new level of fantastic. We could always get out of detention with Professor Gibbons if we could convince Moony to do a strip-tease for her. Hm, now I remember _why _we called you 'Moony', Moony. Anyway, after Moony looked smashing in a pair of garters and a whip, so we decided to earn a bit of pocket money and start doing shows. We got it up to a galleon a head at one point for a standard, I think. Two galleons for a lap-dance, five a head for full frontal, ten for the richer bastards that wanted to see one of us take it up the arse. Of course, for ten galleons they could bloody direct if they wanted. Snape wanted to touch and _DID _even though we told him that it wasn't allowed, but he grabbed my hip anyway and wound up with purple hair, green skin and a mandrake for a hand for his trouble. Other than that everyone was pretty good about it. The feminist witches said we were objectifying women or some such nonsense, but I don't see how that was offensive to women if we were the ones thrusting our cocks at people. It was really only offensive when Peter got involved, so we gave him a post as security and clothes wrangler. How did he get those knickers off the ceiling, I wonder? They must have gotten stuck up there when we introduced Cornish pixies into the act. Oh, you don't want those blighters near your sensitive bits, but that 7th year paid 30 galleons to see us have Cornish Pixie sex and no permanent damage done, eh?"

"I don't mean to interrupt," Remus said. "But could you release Harry?"

Sirius looked down. Harry, still pressed to Sirius's chest, was dangling completely limp in Sirius's arms. Sirius opened his arms and Harry fell with a _flump_ onto the stone floor. "Ah bugger."

Remus bent down to inspect Harry, who seemed to just be passed out, not dead. Hopefully, no lasting brain damage. "You know," Remus said as he cast a levitation spell on Harry and headed toward the staircase "when I told you earlier to get a grip, I meant it figuratively."

Sirius gave a guilty smirk and followed. "I guess now I'll have to take him shopping. You know, make up for almost choking him."

"You will do no such thing. If you want to spoil him, _I _will take him to Gringrotts, withdraw the money with him and take him shopping. _You _will stay home, make a Kreature-free meal and applaud like a good little Gryffindor for the 10 hour fashion show he's going to make us endure." Remus guided Harry's body to the bed. He let it hover there, carefully removing Harry's pants and folding back the covers.

Sirius leaned against the frame, taking in the sight of Remus undressing a young, smooth body that reminded Sirius so much of James. Hm…. Harry inherited his father's bum, that's for sure. "And if Padfoot wants to come along?"

"Then I will find a rolled up newspaper and let my wand do the rest."

"Promise?"

Remus gave a dirty look over his shoulder. He flicked his wand, lowering Harry into the sheets. Remus walked back to the door, shoving Sirius out and closing the door behind them. With another flick of his wand, he cast a silencing spell on the door.

Sirius barely had time to register the spell when Remus caught him by the shirt and turned him to face the wall. There was no time to react as Remus lifted the back of Sirius's shirt, tugged the loose trousers down and gave six smart smacks to Sirius's bum. Sirius clung to the wall, huffing breath onto the ancient wall paper. He knew he had become aroused reminiscing about his Hogwarts days, but now he was officially hard. Remus rubbed his bum lazily and Sirius pushed back to keep as much contact as possible.

"Promise," Remus finally answered, biting Sirius's ear. He gave Sirius another hard smack, then left him in the hall, ass bare with only a hint of color.

"Damn werewolf."

**Since I've never studied at a school that gave a rat's ass about a dead language, these phrases are all directly translated online to Latin. Any conjugative errors can/will be blamed on the failing of the American education system and Google Translator.**

**(1) Morning wood**

**(2) Nipple twister**

**(3) Ass slap**

**(4) Throbbing gland**

**(5) Cock nibble**

**(6) Phantom fuck**

**(7) Give it to me harder**

**(8) Beg for it**

**(9) Please sir may I have another**

**(10) How do you like them apples**

**(11) If you don't stop now I will climax**

**PS: Writing dirty phrases in an English/Latin translator IS as fun as it sounds.**


End file.
